Totems of September: A Novel of Loss, Healing, and Redemption

By Robin Ladue

In her first historical novel, Totems of September, Emmy-nominated author Robin Ladue uses her Native American storytelling tradition of circles on circles and lives on lives. It is interspersed with the culture of the Northwest and Plains tribes through the use of animal legend and myths.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book House Publishing
• Release date: Jun 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781952483493

Robin Ladue

Dr. Robin Ladue is a retired clinical psychologist, formerly in private practice in Washington State. She was born in Seattle but raised in the Sacramento, California, area. Robin's grandfather and great-uncles were survivors of the Cushman Boarding School, having been removed from their parents and experienced the horrors of having their hair cut, not being able to speak their language, and losing their culture. This heritage, along with Dr. Ladue's passion for helping Native women raise healthy babies and addressing the problems of oppression and loss in Native communities, were driving forces in her personal and professional life. She received her master's and doctorate degrees from Washington State University. Dr. Ladue has been affiliated with the University of Missouri, Kansas City; the University of Washington's Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Sciences; the Native American Center for Excellence; and Waikato University in Hamilton, New Zealand. The award-winning author of the Journey through the Healing Circle books and video, Dr. LaDue has lectured worldwide on the effects of prenatal alcohol exposure and historical trauma in Native American communities, as well as the treatment for and consequences of psychological trauma, including traditional Native methods of treatment. She is an enrolled member of the Stl'pulmsh Indian Tribe of Washington. This is her first historical novel.

Book preview

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2950 Newmarket St., Suite 101-358 | Bellingham, WA 98226

Ph: 206.226.3588 | www.bookhouserules.com

Copyright © 2014 by Robin Ladue

First edition, October 2013

Second edition, February 2022

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-952483-48-6 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-952483-49-3 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013948145

Editor: Julie Scandora

Cover design: Laura Zugzda

Interior design: Stephanie Martindale

Illustrations: Rhys Haug

Title page illustration: Donald Voss

Totems of September is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated with loving appreciation to:

Helen Lucile Ladue. Her grace and spirit have rarely been seen in this world. I owe her everything.

To Roy Frank Ladue,Wesley Charles Ladue,

and Dove Louis Ladue, who survived the

boarding school holocaust

and

Charles Vernon Ladue, who did not . . . .

Contents

1. Devils Tower

2. The Towers

3. The South Tower

4. The Peregrine Falcons

5. The Flying Salmon

6. The Wolverines of Tarrington

7. The Red Pony

8. The Spectacled Mice

9. The Last Wolf

10. The Snow Raven

11. The Guardian Elk

12. The White Buffalo Calf

13. Devils Tower Redux

Epilogue: Restarting the World

Acknowledgments

About the Author

1.

Devils Tower

Devils Tower, Wyoming • September 10, 2001

Arrows of sunlight reflected off the helmets of climbers as they maneuvered through the crevices and chimneys of the indifferent monolith. Sun-scattered dust and the aroma of pine mentally transported Lola’s thoughts back to adolescent nights spent under summer stars. She turned away from the tower, back towards the parking lot, where Auntie Louella dozed in the rental car. Her foot lolled out the car’s half-open door resting on the pavement, head back against the seat. If Lola guessed right, there would be a tiny string of drool connecting Auntie’s lip and outthrust chin.

Years before, she had first gasped in awe at its power. Devils Tower stood as a magic marker of time and space in Lola’s mind. They had made this trip, a journey of two generations, as part of a bargain. Auntie had turned ninety the previous spring. She had, in her inimitable manner, requested that Lola take her on her final life trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota to see Crazy Horse on the mountain. Auntie had been in the process of dying for nearly thirty years, and Lola had no doubt she would see another thirty before leaving this world. Lola’s price for making the trip east from the Pacific Ocean to the Black Hills had been that they come to Devils Tower. Auntie Louella had grumbled about the long drive and her old bones, but east they came with this detour to Devils Tower.

Lola’s reward for the long journey had been seeing joyful tears running down the creases of Auntie’s beautiful face as she stared into the eternal gaze of Crazy Horse on his pony. The shared heritage of Auntie’s Stl’pulmsh (Cowlitz) blood and that of the Sioux chief mingled in the sun that late summer day. The light reflected equally from the white stone and Auntie’s tears. In that instant, Lola understood that Auntie had told the truth—this was to be her final journey.

Lola and Auntie Louella drove through the plains and woods of South Dakota to the red rocks of Wyoming. The warm September air brought the sweet smell of cut barley, mixed with the pungent aroma of the last survivors of Sitting Bull’s buffalo herds. The two women enjoyed those many miles, sharing companionship, bottled water, and bags of chips and beef jerky. Every piece of gossip, snarky LeFleur family history, and bad joke had been discussed and re-dissected. Every night in the sacred sweat lodge was reviewed by the time Lola drove up the ridge outside of Hulett, Wyoming. Then, Devils Tower came into view.

The silent tower rose majestically from the surrounding hills, reigning over the landscape for hundreds of miles. Thousands of birds made their homes in the gray, green, and brown vertical columns. They darted from the hidden cracks and ledges, circling and wheeling, calling across the woods and rocks of the monument. A jumble of boulders lay scattered at the base of the tower, dropped by the unmindful hand of the Creator. It was apparent the woods around Devils Tower had burned in the recent past. The pine trees’ skeletons lent a haunting eeriness to the place long held sacred by the Native people of the land.

As Lola approached the base of the tower, she tilted her head back, searching the blue canopy of the sky above. A red-tailed hawk screamed as it rode the air currents that lifted it up, up, up, past the climbers to where Lola could see the faces of the sisters as they hid from their brother, the bear. Lola guided the car into a parking spot, making sure Auntie was out of the sun. She turned towards Auntie with a questioning look.

Go, girl, Auntie Louella chuckled. Go, go! Give my blessing bundles to the altar. Go, child. Let an old woman sleep in peace.

Lola laughed. I won’t be long, Auntie. Be good while I am gone and leave the old men alone.

Lola climbed out of the car and, drawn by the power of the tower, began her walk up the path. A short way up, she came to the altar with the prayer ties and offerings left by the Native people who came to honor the Creator and the Old Ones. She fingered the small figurine of a black owl hanging around her neck. Its smoothness comforted her as she knelt in the pine needles mixed with the red dirt of Wyoming.

"Give me grace, Creator. Give me the heart to go on in this world. Give me the clarity of the sight of the owl. Creator, if you are there, please, bless this world and especially Auntie. AHO!"

Lola placed her red-cloth-wrapped, scented, and sacred offerings of sage and tobacco at the base of the altar. From her pocket, she pulled several animals carved from a variety of stone. They included a wolf, snake, horse, elk, crow, falcon, and wolverine. Each of them was festooned with a feather and tiny stones and hung from simple black strings tied with a double knot. She placed them on the altar.

She whispered a quick prayer to the Creator, stood, and walked on. She listened to the stories of the chickadees, jays, and crows, singing in the trees. Her thoughts were slow and languid, bits of voices, bits of song. Time seemed suspended, and the only movement was that of a small brown rabbit sniffing at her dusty sneakers.

Lola began walking closer to the tower, off the path and into the brush, finally stopping to press her body against the embracing heat of the stone. Above her head, she heard the clink of metal clasps and the voices of the climbers calling to one another. She tilted her head as far back as she could, trying to catch a glimpse of them on the monolith but saw, instead, startling white clouds racing over the top of the tower.

Suddenly, she felt a sense of vertigo and of time slipping away. As she lay against the heated rock, the red-tailed hawk cried again, its call chased by the sounds of tumbling rocks, cries, and screams.

A small rock fell from the top of the monolith, gathering speed as it rolled towards the ground below. Other small rocks joined it, and soon a torrent of dust, stones, boulders, and trees began to fall towards Lola. She covered her head in terror, looking for a place to escape the onslaught. Glancing up in horror, she saw bodies dropping out of the sky, landing at her feet with the sound of a muffled thud. Ash and dust from the crumbling tower swept over Lola as it rolled across the landscape, down the valley to where the river ran cold and blue. Screams of panic and the smell of death surrounded her. The sky turned black as crows’ wings as the tower disintegrated.

Through the dust, a beautiful woman emerged. She was dressed all in white and was smiling. Her black hair swirled in the wind currents of the circling storm. Two young men, identical in feature and dressed in military uniforms, came forward, each holding the young woman’s hands. As the three figures disappeared back into the swirling, murky dust, a small, black-haired child in a yellow shirt appeared and ran after them.

Gray and black debris reached the river where a man sat on the bank, holding a revolver in his clenched hand. A petite black-haired woman stood behind him, her tiny hands caressing his neck. Two older men stood on a huge boulder that had fallen from the tower, their gray braids blowing around them in the howling storm. A bloodied white bird flew by and called to the white raven perched on a tree at the edge of the debris. Down through the valley and into the distance the dust spread, the blackening sky foretelling the end of the world.

Lola jerked awake. She felt the rough surface of the stone against her cheek. The pleasant aroma of warmed ancient dust had been replaced with the smell of ashes, fear, and death. She could hear faint cries of pain and anguish. She shook her head, clearing her mind. Slowly, she realized the sounds were actually the calls of the descending climbers, congratulating each other on their success and bravery in mastering the tower. Looking around, she saw the black asphalt of the path encircling the base of the tower, its macadam softened by the heat. The voices of walkers coming around the bend grew louder, returning her abruptly to reality.

Well, Lola mumbled quietly, that was odd. I must have fallen asleep. I better see to Auntie. She will be fussing and fuming, convinced I’ve deserted her in her hour of need.

Lola glanced about her one more time. Pieces of casual conversation drifted back to her as the other hikers strode past. Despite their presence, she felt anxious and unsettled. Much of the heat and joy of the day had vanished. There was a heavy feeling deep in her heart and soul as she walked the path back to the car. She felt as if she were both deaf and blind. There was a chill in the air, and the birds were strangely quiet. She hurried her steps, suddenly convinced that something terrible had happened to Auntie. As she reached the far side of the tower, she could hear deep, anguished sobs coming from the woods. Lola began to sweat and broke into a run towards the car. Her breath was ragged, panic rising in her chest as she finally stumbled to the car where Auntie sat motionless.

Auntie, Auntie!! Lola cried. Oh, God, Auntie! She could see Auntie’s head against the seat. No movement came from the tiny body.

What, girl? What’s chasing you? Auntie jumped as she was startled awake. What is the problem? Damn it, child! I was dreaming of birds and rivers. You ruined my dream!

Lola sagged against the side of the hot car, her legs buckling with relief. Auntie struggled to sit upright as Lola slumped to the ground, shielding her eyes against the setting sun.

Auntie Louella, I was so scared. I heard voices and screams. There were tears and fear. Auntie, there was death. Lola’s voice faded as she realized Auntie was fine and back to her usual grumpy self.

Lola remained nervous and worried as she slowly walked around the car, opened the door on the driver’s side, and took one long, last look at the tower. Sliding behind the steering wheel, she prepared herself for the upcoming drive to the north. Once again, she could see the colors of the tree leaves, blue sky, and clouds. Slowly, Lola reached across Auntie’s lap and pulled her door shut. Auntie sat back in her seat as Lola closed her own door and started the engine. She turned to look at her aunt, who was sitting quietly and casually looking out her side window.

Finally, Auntie spoke, her voice low and somber. Lola, the things you heard, were they in the past or the future?

The future, Lola replied softly.

Yes, girl, Auntie said, I believe you. I know the truth of what you heard.

Lola turned to stare at her aunt’s profile, confused at Auntie’s calm, serene voice. Louella looked away from Lola, peering out the window as the car moved down the hill and past the erect prairie dogs, always the silent sentinels. A red-tailed hawk soared overhead. Turning her head forward, Lola gently braked at the stop sign. Without saying another word, she entered the highway and as she accelerated to the north, the tower disappeared behind them, along with the cries of fear and the smell of ash.

2.

The Towers

Minot, North Dakota • September 11, 2001

Lola and Louella had driven through the afternoon and late into the night to reach the motel in Minot, a dour northern-plains military town. After eating her order-in cheese pizza, Auntie demanded Lola turn out the light and let an old lady sleep. She never had trouble dropping into slumber, flat on her back, arms at her side, and chin dropped to her chest. Snores rumbled up from Auntie’s throat, exploding as each hit the air.

They had settled in for a well-earned rest, but all night long, Lola had tossed and turned in her narrow bed. The thin pillow and scratchy sheets only increased her irritation. She could not escape the sounds and smells of her time at Devils Tower. Itchy and unsettled, she counted the minutes of the too-short night, listening to the rain splash in the dust and the trash blow around the corners of the gray, washed, cinderblock building. Her thoughts wandered over the past four days since she and Auntie set off on their pilgrimage.

The train ride from Seattle to Minot started calmly enough. Auntie Louella and Lola settled their bags into the luxury sleeping car Auntie had demanded. They made their way down the aisle to the viewing car, Auntie clutching Lola’s arm to keep her balance against the train’s rocking motion. They took seats across the aisle from a slender blond woman who was dressed in a pinstriped blue suit, fluffy white blouse, Hermes scarf, and prim matching pumps. Auntie settled back into her seat with a sigh and instantly relaxed. She peered out the window, intending to absorb every detail of the passing scenery.

Barely an hour into the trip, the train lurched and screeched to a stop after hitting a red car that had been abandoned on the track. The passengers grumbled to each other about the cause of the accident and what it would mean for the timing of the rest of their journey. Auntie cackled her elderly laugh as an hour later the train slowly lumbered back into motion. As Auntie and Lola passed the crumpled car, now lying at the side of the track, Auntie pointed at it, her bony finger trembling.

Lola, Auntie said, your grandmother and I used to take the train to Portland. We saw lots of cows and pigs lying on the tracks. I used to wonder about the sights we saw, but girl, I never once saw a car on the tracks. Glad to see that there is still something new in this world.

Auntie, what if there had been someone in that car? Lola had a tendency to always imagine the worst. She could easily hear the screams and feel the panic of the people in the car as the train raced down upon them. She imagined their hands pressed to the windows, eyes bulging in fear, disbelief clouding reason from their mind. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as she leaned her face against the cool glass of the window.

Lola, girl, for goodness sake! I saw the old drunk driving that car get out and lean against that shack well before we were near. Wish I had the courage to do something like that! Auntie smiled her impish grin.

The small blond woman with the elegant hairdo peered over her tortoise-shell glasses in clear disdain of Auntie and Lola. She returned her gaze to the thick stack of papers cradled in her lap. Auntie, never one to be deterred, nudged the woman’s slacks-clad leg with her clunky shoes.

What are you reading there, girl?

Clearly annoyed, the woman turned away from Auntie who, taking no notice of this message of disengagement, nudged her again.

Where are you going, girl?

I am going to the Pentagon for a meeting. I’m a civilian contractor with the navy. Not that it is YOUR business, but I don’t like flying. Planes fall out of the sky, and I have no intention of falling with them. The woman turned away, dismissing Lola and Auntie.

A loud gust of wind brought Lola’s mind back to the small motel room in Minot. She twisted once more on her narrow bed and finally waded into sleep, the blondwoman’s face and patrician voice fading into the gray of a disturbed slumber.

A bare four hours later, at 7:30, the gray morning dawned unpleasantly damp, smelling like the old, wet woolen coat Auntie wore around her thin shoulders. The two women packed up, left the motel, and started off in the rental car. the Lola pulled to a stop in front of the tiny Hertz office. She grabbed Auntie’s newly purchased white-oak walking stick and impatiently sighed as Auntie fussed at the buttons on her coat. Auntie responded by grumbling and moaning about arthritic joints and the lack of understanding inherent in Lola and the entire younger generation.

Auntie, stop sniping at me! I will let you out. Give me a minute. Lola’s voice was as acrid as the rancid morning air.

Finally, the awaited transportation to the train station arrived in the form of a red-and-gray taxi. A ruddy-faced, boozy-smelling man emerged from the driver’s side.

Going east or west today? he asked, his breath sending a flood of tobacco flakes over the waiting women. He grabbed their bags and threw them with a thud into the trunk as Lola helped Auntie climb in. The oak walking stick hit Lola across the knees as Auntie settled herself. Lola cursed from the sting of the stick and then climbed into the other side. Her mood was as dark and ugly as the rank, closed sky, and it worsened considerably as they reached the small, shabby building that housed the train station.

That’ll be fifteen dollars! the driver demanded, holding out his thick but surprisingly soft hand. Add a five-dollar tip, and we’ll call it a day.

Ignoring the request for the tip, Lola handed the driver a five and a ten and then pulled the bags from the trunk herself.

Auntie, come on! Let’s go. Come on. Lola’s voice was harsh and ugly. Her mood had become even more glum with each passing second. Come on.

She pulled at her aunt’s wet sleeve. Inside the station, a television mounted high in the corner showed male and female anchors on CNN. Lola glanced at the television briefly, noting a plume of smoke sailing across an impossibly blue sky. She shifted her attention back to her aunt who was looking around the room, seeking to identify the most appropriate of the passengers with whom she could converse on the long ride back to the West Coast.

Auntie, Lola scolded. Auntie, pay attention! Stay here and keep your purse under your arm. Don’t wander off. I mean it! Stay put. I am going to get our tickets and will be back in five minutes. Stay put!

She left her aunt in front of the mounted television and walked towards the ticket window. After a brief exchange, she had the tickets in hand. As she turned back, she was confronted by a look on her aunt’s face she’d never seen before, a look of horror and disbelief. Fearing Louella was ill, Lola moved quickly to her side. Auntie grabbed Lola’s hand.

Oh, good Creator! Auntie moaned. Oh, Lola, my God, look at the television. Oh, my God, Lola.

Startled, Lola looked up at the TV and watched in silent horror as a screaming plane plunged into the blue-and-silver tower, shattering glass, the day, and the world in a moment’s time. The room spun and tilted off its axis. Auntie clung to Lola’s hand as a low moan escaped from her lips. No one in the station seemed to see the terror unfolding. As a tall man in a Yellowstone sweatshirt brushed past Auntie, she grabbed him with her free hand.

Stop, you fool. Look! We are under attack. Call the stationmaster. Someone, we are under attack. Look, you fools, look!

The man began to pull away from Auntie’s grasp when his eyes moved to the television screen. Auntie’s words rippled through the room. In slow motion, fellow travelers turned to face the screen where huge black billows of smoke were filling the blue sky as flames licked up the side of the two silver towers. A profound hush fell upon the room. No one moved. No one breathed. No one spoke. The world had come to an end.

The local police and a small contingent of National Guard soldiers had magically appeared at the doors of the station. No one was allowed in or out. Lines formed in front of the two pay phones, people standing in near silence, their voices low and trembling as they sought news about the safety of loved ones.

At long last, the stationmaster called the train ready to board, but few passengers in the station could voluntarily pull themselves away from the mesmerizing images flickering relentlessly across the TV screen. Slowly, a few passengers left the confines of the terminal, pausing at the door to look back over their shoulders, shaking their heads, expressing emotion beyond disbelief. Gradually, the station emptied as the train welcomed the passengers. Solemnly, Auntie and Lola took their places in the sleeping car, stopping each porter to inquire about more news.

There had been so many rumors and both confirmed and unconfirmed reports of other acts of terror. Only because they had seen so much horror with their own eyes could they even begin to accept the reality of the morning.

It was finally announced that this train, with all its passengers, would be held on the siding in front of the station until they could be assured there were no explosives on the tracks between Minot and Seattle.

How in the hell will they know that? Auntie shook her head. The damn government never gets anything right. What are they gonna do? Crawl every inch of track? She fumed and fussed, trying to get comfortable on the couch that at night folded into a double bed.

Damn it, Lola! Auntie thumped her walking stick on the floor, Go see what’s happening, girl.

Still reeling from the shock of watching the day’s carnage, Lola replayed the scenes relentlessly over and over in her mind. She turned away from her aunt as her eyes welled with tears, feeling the horror of those on the planes as they careened into solid steel and breaking glass. She could feel the anguish and hear the screams of terror as the planes hit their targets. Her breath caught as she felt a pressure in her chest crushing her ribs and strangling her spirit.

Auntie, Lola replied wearily, no one knows anything else. There is no one to ask. There is nothing anyone can tell us. The attendant will be here soon. You can ask her, but you must understand, no one knows anything more than what we have witnessed. Auntie, this is what I heard yesterday, the screams, the fear, and the ashes. My God, Auntie, it’s war. Oh, my God!

Auntie sat upright, her tiny body shaking with indignation. Lola, you don’t really think that fool in the White House would take us to war? We don’t even know who did this. I have seen enough war in my life. Lola, please, go find out what happened.

More to escape from her aunt than anything else, Lola made her way to the back of the train. The porter ignored her. After Lola tapped her on the shoulder for the third time, the attendant turned towards her.

Don’t ask me. I don’t know. I just don’t know anything new. Go back to your seat. I can’t tell you anything. Just go. The woman’s voice quivered as she turned away. Lola started to make her way back to the sleeping car where Auntie waited. She passed a line of people, squeezing their way down to the attendant, whose tears made her cheeks flush even more.

At two o’clock in the afternoon, five hours late, the train slowly pulled out of the station. As the train began to move, Auntie started thumping her stick on the ground again. Five hours we’ve been here. Are we going home? What is going on? Lola, go ask again. We haven’t seen the attendant for hours. Check your cell phone. Call the damn newspaper. Someone must know something!

Auntie, I don’t mean to be rude, but I am out of patience here. I’ve talked to everyone on this train. No one can use their cell phone. We can’t get reception. Don’t you think I would if I could? No one can use a radio. No one has a newspaper. We will just have to wait; I can’t change those facts. I don’t know what to tell you.

Don’t get sassy with me. Crisis or no crisis, show me the respect I deserve! Auntie snapped.

Auntie, enough! Just wait until the next stop. There is nothing I or anyone else can do!

Lola recalled the blond woman on the trip out from Seattle, the one who insisted planes fell out of the sky. She was right. Lola murmured, wondering where the woman was now and what she was thinking of the morning’s events.

Three hours into their journey, a faint voice came over the intercom. "The president has addressed the nation. It is confirmed that four planes were used as missiles against the United States. Two were hijacked and flown into the World Trade Center, one into the Pentagon, and a fourth crashed in Pennsylvania. The president has declared that the United States will hunt down the cowards responsible for this attack on innocent people and our country.

As of now, all commercial and private planes have been grounded. Passengers on this train will be allowed to disembark, but no one will be allowed to get on the train. There will be a change of crew at the next stop, and hopefully, there will be more information at that time. Those holding five o’clock reservations for dinner are asked to come to the dining car. For those passengers who are so inclined, please pray.

Lola shook her head as she listened to the disembodied voice over the loudspeaker. She wrapped her hands around her shoulders, hugging herself as she thought of the small blonde who might have been at the Pentagon that morning. She could see her face and hear her refined voice: Planes fall out of the sky. She pulled Louella to her feet. Auntie, that’s our call. Come on. I’ll help you down the aisle.

The clicking of the rails sounded loud as bullets to Lola as the two women made their way to the dining car. She had a sense of falling as the train swayed around a corner. Stepping between cars, Lola got a glimpse of the tracks below. The stones in the rail bed glowed white in the late afternoon light. Auntie pushed open the door to the dining room ahead of Lola and turned to tug on her arm

Come on, girl! I’m hungry. Let’s find our table. They stopped at the second table on the right side of the car. Outside, the recently harvested plains flashed by. The only measurement of the train’s speed was the blinking of the telephone poles. Off to the north, purple-colored clouds bunched up against the horizon. The flatness of the land was interrupted by stacks of abandoned cars and an occasional silo.

Sliding into the bench seat next to Auntie, Lola continued to stare out the window. She could see the plane crashing into the blue towers, billowing smoke and fire, over and over again. She could hear the screams of the people, and as she squeezed her eyes shut to close out the horrifying images, she saw the tiny figure of a woman falling upside down across the face of the tower, primly holding her skirt to her legs in a final gesture of modesty, floating forever into the air . . .

Lost in another world, Lola shook her head as the porter, menus tucked under her arm, escorted an elderly couple to their table. Auntie, ever inquisitive, tapped her stick on the floor and nudged Lola into alertness.

Girl, where are your manners? Say hello to these nice folks. In spite of today, the world has not ended. Where are you, girl?

Lola looked across the red table with its containers of salt, pepper, jam, sugar, and ketchup in a silver holder. Both of their new tablemates were trim and attractive with only the silver of their hair and the lines in their faces giving a hint to their advancing years. The woman wore a neon-striped blue-and-pink blouse with matching blue slacks, and a pink scarf tied around her neck. Her husband, dressed in matching slacks and shirt, took off his glasses and wiped his face with his scratchy white napkin.

In the woman’s blue eyes, Lola could see smoke billowing into the air, blowing in a straight line across the sky. She could see the people in the building leaning out the windows, begging for help. She could not hear the words of her aunt or the replies of the elderly couple. Lola shook her head and tried to will away the anxiety that pounded through her heart and limbs.

She looked around the dining car where the other tables, filled with evening diners, seemed to be in suspended animation. She could no longer hear the clicking of the rails, feel the sway of the train, or see the darkening blue sky out the train window. She turned back to look at the older woman sitting across from her. She peered, once again, into the woman’s eyes and, once more, saw the tiny figure of the woman falling towards the earth, her brown hair streaming out behind her.

Suddenly, Lola became aware of what the three other people around the table were discussing.

We were there in August, you know, for our daughter’s wedding, the man was saying. Annie works in the South Tower. We’ve tried for hours to reach her, but all the lines were busy. We can’t reach her husband either.

Lola stiffened, horror filling her body. Outside, purple clouds in the distance flickered with lightning, and a wind sprinted across the prairie, brushing the tips of the stubble left in the fields. A red-winged blackbird flew alongside the train for a moment and then swerved off to a distant bony tree.

As Lola’s focus slowly returned to the table, Auntie leaned forward. Whatcha talking about? You mean your child was in that tower? Lordy, have you told the train authorities? Have you asked them to let you off the train? Where is the rest of your family? Lola, get someone over here to help these folks!

The woman across the table started to tear up. We’ve tried. I told you that. She wiped her eyes in a manner identical to that of her husband. We can’t find out anything. We have to wait until we get off the train in Spokane.

Lola listened with a growing sense of anguish and fear, unable to speak. She felt a despair so strong she had to lean against the window to support herself, the sounds of Auntie questioning the couple dulled by her own panic.

Annie and her husband were married a month ago. Our daughter was so proud of her job in New York. We went to the top of the tower and looked out across the world. Who could have done this terrible thing? Why? She started shaking, biting her lip to hold back the tears and to maintain her composure.

Mother, her husband murmured, Annie is fine. We will be in Spokane soon, and when we call, I am sure we will find her at home, safe and sound with her husband and the cat. Trust me. God would not take our only child from us. You know that.

The porter returned to take their orders, but Lola could no longer sit at the table. She pushed past Auntie, ignoring her startled protests and the questioning gaze of Annie’s parents. She staggered down the aisle of the train, the wind whistling in her ears. The thunder from the purple clouds came closer, booming in time to the pounding of her heart. As she finally reached their sleeping car, a crashing roar engulfed the train as the lurking storm burst. Lola fell into the seat. She could physically feel her belief in the goodness of mankind fleeing her heart and soul. She pressed her face against the rough wall of the sleeping car, praying for the day to be a nightmare and for the waning sun to break through the heavy storm clouds. She could see the faces of the woman and man sitting across from Auntie. She could see the smoothness of Auntie’s mottled hands and the gleam of the salt and pepper shakers reflected in the red surface of the table. Most of all, she could see the tiny figure of a floating woman, floating forever in front of a silver-and-blue building, tumbling downward with her skirt pressed against her legs.

Lola had no idea how long she sat scrunched into a ball in the corner of the small couch of the sleeping car. The dark of the storm gave way to the dark of night, and as the skies cleared, the stars beamed one by one. Some time earlier, Auntie had returned to the car and pulled out the top bunk, awkwardly climbing into it with much creaking and complaining. She fell asleep, tiny snores barely audible against the constant rumble of the train. Several times during the night, the train stopped, but no word of the outside world infiltrated the sealed atmosphere of the train. Recalling the blond woman on the outbound trip, Lola continued to sit hunched against the window. Off in the night, she could see the skeletons of cars, lights glowing in houses, and the occasional shadowy figure of an owl skimming the earth.

At one point, the red-haired porter stopped by the door of the car and offered to make up the bed. Without looking around, Lola waved her away, uttering a sharp no. She could hear the low murmurings of the other passengers as they made their way down the aisle, and one by one, the lights extinguished as her fellow travelers traded the fear of the day for restless sleep.

Odd thoughts flickered through Lola’s mind. She recalled the words of the song:

Nighttime on the City of New Orleans

Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee

Half way home, we’ll be there by morning

Through the Mississippi darkness

Rolling down to the sea

Dear Creator, Lola whispered, clutching the small owl fetish that hung around her neck, what will tomorrow bring?

The next morning, after a subdued breakfast, the train finally pulled into Spokane. Lola gathered up Auntie and all her belongings, her gray wool coat, and walking stick. She helped Auntie down the stairs to the platform. As she stepped out, she noticed that the couple they had sat with at dinner the night before was just ahead of them. They were dressed in matching tans and were huddled in front of a newspaper stand. As if a slow-motion camera was watching the scene from all angles, Lola stared, transfixed as the man pointed to the enormous picture on the front page. There, in excruciating detail, was a picture of a tiny feminine figure, floating head down towards the earth, her hands vainly holding her skirt to her legs, smoke billowing from the enormous silver-and- blue building behind her.

Auntie was busy fussing, caught in the crowd that ebbed and flowed around them. Suddenly the passengers parted as if Auntie had waved her hand. The steel of the station seemed to vibrate from the hustle of the burgeoning noise of the crowd and the quivering of waiting trains.

Lola, get me a paper! Auntie demanded. Where’s the damn train to Seattle? Lola, come on, get me a paper. I want to read it on our ride home. Lola, wake up, girl. What’s wrong with you? You’ve been acting like a ghost since we left Minot. Come on, girl. Pay attention. Get this old lady a paper and get us on the next train.

Shaking her head, Lola looked up at the monitor, which was being constantly updated with new schedules. She turned to Auntie and said, Stay put, don’t go wandering, or I swear old woman, I will leave you here. I am going to go get us a paper. But if you move, I swear, I will leave you right here with all these people. Stay put and I’ll be right back.

Lola, girl! You ever speak like that to me again, I’ll turn you over my knee! She frowned in disapproval at Lola’s words.

Ignoring Auntie’s comments, Lola made her way to the front of the newspaper racks, pushing several people out of her way. She deposited the appropriate coins and reached into the rack, pulling out two copies of Spokane’s Statesman Review. Tucking them under her arm, she turned back to where she had left Auntie. She tugged on her arm and, taking a deep breath, steered her to their waiting train. The conductor helped Auntie up the steps as Lola followed behind.

Inside the train, the scene was bizarre, something out of a silent movie. People’s mouths moved but no sound was heard. The doors of the train slid shut against the noise of the station. As Louella and Lola walked down the aisle to their seats, they passed rows of passengers, each with a newspaper in front of their face. The occasional sob or gasp escaping from behind the shake and rattle of the paper were the only audible sounds on the slowly departing train.

When Lola finally got Auntie situated and the luggage stowed in place, she sat down on the seat across from her. She reached forward and took Auntie’s walking stick from her. Auntie’s feet were flat on the floor as she sat strangely quiet. Lola pulled the newspapers she had purchased out from under her arm and, without a word, handed one to Auntie. She looked out the window as the train gradually picked up speed. Placing her own feet flat on the floor, she put her knees on either side of Auntie’s. Clenching and unclenching her hands, she rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and, taking a deep breath to steady herself, opened the paper.

There it was, her nightmarish vision filling the entire front page: smoke billowing about in an impossibly blue sky above a crumbling blue-and-silver building. In front of the building, a tiny figure drifted down, floating into all eternity.

The train accelerated around a bend as Spokane faded off into the afternoon of the early September day. Suddenly sensing Auntie’s stillness, Lola looked up. She watched in silence as a tear rolled down Auntie’s nose. The single tear seemed to hang suspended and then dropped onto the paper, landing on the tiny figure of the woman floating in the air. The newspaper fluttered slightly and, with a tiny sigh, barely audible to Lola’s ears, Auntie fulfilled her statement of two days earlier. Auntie Louella completed her last trip, her hands fell into her lap, and her head drifted downward, resting upon her chest, the remnants of her final tear glistening on her finely wrinkled cheek

3.

The South Tower

Manhattan, New York • September 11, 2001

The day dawned cool with a cerulean blue sky. The early sun rays gleamed through the greenhouse window, illuminating the dust motes floating in the kitchen air. An old steel faucet slowly dripped into the sink, each drip making a soft plunk sound. A calico cat lay on the braided rug in the center of the room, contentedly grooming herself and purring loudly. 

A slender man stood at the sink, twisting his still-new wedding band. He was dressed in a charcoal pinstripe suit, his shirt a cool shade of lavender complemented by a simple gray tie. The man smiled absently as he watched the morning traffic on Riverside Drive, right outside the window of the ground-floor apartment. As he stood